


Even Thunderclouds Wear Silver Linings

by paperatoms



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Exhaustion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperatoms/pseuds/paperatoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which: Merlin tries to fix the world and puts himself in danger, Arthur is protective and no fool, and sometimes curses are blessings in disguise... AU for 1x03:  The Curse of Nimueh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Thunderclouds Wear Silver Linings

  
. . .

. . .

**Wear** (wâr) _v_.

**1.** To carry or have on the person as covering, adornment, or protection.

**2.** _Nautical_ To come about.

**3.** To last under continual or hard use; to last through the passage of time.

. . .

. . .

"It seemed so _simple_ , Gaius," Merlin protested. One look at his mentor's face across the table told him that Gaius was still angry – but though Merlin felt remorse over how out of hand the situation had become so quickly he could not bring himself to regret healing Tom, even in light of Gwen's imprisonment. Sure, it had been a foolish and naïve thing to do – but it had also been the right thing.

Besides, Merlin had never claimed to be the sharpest sword in the armoury.

Gaius had held his silence all through the long walk from the council chambers to their quarters, and Merlin's dread at his impending drubbing down had swelled with each step. His fear had been well founded; Merlin had never known Gaius to speak in _that_ tone of voice before; that mix of barely restrained anger, disappointment and fear. Still, he'd hoped that now, a few hours after the initial argument, Gaius would be at least a little more receptive to seeing things from his own point of view.

Merlin gave up trying to choke his soup down, pushing the bowl away with a sigh. He'd only been trying to help, though admittedly things always seemed to go awry when he did that. (Ewan. Valiant. The enchanted shield. Case in point, though it had all turned out in the end.)

But Gwen's father had been dying; dying of the same mysterious illness that was spreading all throughout the lower town. There was no way Merlin could have allowed himself to do anything but try to save him. He knew how special the bond between a child and an only parent was, and if there was only one thing that his magic was useful for, he'd reasoned, surely it would be to protect precious things like that.

But it didn't change the fact that his best friend was now in a Camelot dungeon, waiting to be burnt at the stake. He'd saved one life only to lose another.

"It all seemed so simple," Merlin repeated softly.

. . .

. . .

Gaius sighed, his gaze heavy on the lad – because really, he was only a boy – hunched over on the stool next to him. Firelight flickered over his drawn face.

Gaius's anger at his ward's actions had long since faded (it was nearly impossible to stay angry at Merlin for any great length of time, he thought wryly), but the fear yet remained. Fear that Merlin would never learn to think his actions through – and that next time, the consequences would be borne by far more than the handful of people snared in the current situation. Merlin needed to harden his heart, Gaius realised – and that was a lesson that only bitter experience could teach. He sighed again.

"An easy solution is like a light in a storm, Merlin," the older man said gently. "Rush for it at your peril, for it may not always lead you to a safe harbour."

"I can see that now," Merlin muttered sullenly. Gaius eyed him sharply.

"How many times have I warned you about the responsibilities of being a warlock?"

"But doesn't that responsibility extend beyond just Arthur? I can save lives, Gaius!" Merlin cried, struggling to put words to the drive he felt. "You said it yourself – this sickness is _bad_ , and it's spreading by the hour. I don't doubt that you'll find a cure for it using science, but Gaius – science takes time. How many more fathers like Tom are going to lose their lives in the meantime?"

Gaius looked away, troubled.

"I know you want to help, Merlin, but you must be _careful_." He caught the miserable look on the warlock's face and his own expression softened. "I will ask the king to tell the people to draw their water from the outer cistern – it comes from a different source than the one that feeds the lower city. It's not a long term solution, but hopefully we can prevent others from falling ill until we find the source of the disease."

Merlin nodded wearily, accepting the compromise.

"We'll talk more about this in the morning," Gaius said, eying his companion's drooping eyelids. Merlin rose, and for a moment the room spun around him. It had been a long day – he was exhausted. Gaius pushed him gently in the direction of his room. "Get some sleep, Merlin."

. . .

. . .

Merlin did not get to sleep that night.

He stayed up, squinting at the moonlit pages of his book of magic, desperately reading through healing spells, purification spells, protection spells… anything that could possibly help prevent Camelot from becoming a city of the dead, because that's what would happen if this epidemic continued on the way that it was.

The fact was… If anyone had the power to fix this, it was him - and that meant he had a responsibility – a _duty_ – to do so, regardless of his secrets.

Scribbling down a few of the more promising options, Merlin quickly gathered up a few supplies and slipped from the room, pausing only to resettle the blankets on his sleeping mentor's shoulders.

The trip to the lower town was chilly. It took Merlin longer than it usual to get there, forced as he was to detour around the guard posts that had been set up to enforce the quarantine, and by the time he arrived at the main well his skin was prickling with cold. He quickly drew a bucket of water; eyed it warily.

"Right, Merlin." he muttered. "No wool gathering. Get to work." He rolled up his sleeves, steeling himself. Then the young warlock immersed his hands in the tainted water, opening up his magic as he did so…

…And immediately reeled back, retching with shock and revulsion.

The taint in the water was definitely magical. And it was _bad_.

. . .

. . .

Contrary to the belief of certain individuals, Arthur Pendragon was no fool.

It mystified him how anyone could possibly come to that conclusion. He was the crown prince, after all, and while the position was passed down by blood, the knowledge it required was not. Furthermore, he was Camelot's First Knight – he knew how to plan a battle, how to lead men, how to spot an opponent's weakness… And above all, he knew the importance of a sharp eye.

Which was how he knew that Gaius and Merlin were keeping something from him.

To reiterate: Arthur was no fool.

He'd seen the slightly panicked looks the two of them had traded during the search of their quarters. He'd noticed the way his manservant had deliberately positioned himself by the bed when they'd reached his room - and he'd caught the flicker of the bed sheet as it settled over something on the floor. What he'd _not_ caught was what that 'something' was… which begged two questions:

What was Merlin hiding…and why was he hiding it?

The answer to the second question could only be that the 'something' violated one or more of Camelot's more serious laws in some way, and that revelation had shocked Arthur so much that he'd, well… Okay, fine. He admitted it. He'd panicked, leaving the physician's quarters a swiftly as he'd arrived.

The answer to the first question, however, was still a mystery… which was why Arthur found himself in his manservant's room in the middle of the day, when every other normal person was out in the sunshine enjoying lunch. Gaius was sitting in with his father – a rare private audience – and Merlin was… well. Who knew where Merlin was? The idiot had scarpered soon after completing his morning duties and Arthur hadn't seen him since. If he knew what was good for him, though, he'd be in Arthur's chambers right now, setting out the midday meal. Arthur's stomach growled at the thought. He grimaced. Best to get this over with quickly.

The prince quickly shut the rough wooden door behind him and turned to survey the room. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at how messy Merlin had managed to make the room despite how few possessions he owned, but he was. Snorting, he headed straight for the unmade bed (which didn't surprise him in the slightest – Merlin had looked like he'd just rolled out of it when he'd roused Arthur that morning), and settled on his knees.

A thorough search under the bed revealed no suspicious objects – just an assortment of clothes (cupboard, Merlin! How many times did he have to say it?), a dagger (poorly made, but oddly familiar) and… a stone dog's paw…? Weird, but not contraband.

Not to be put off, Arthur set to work knocking on the wooden floorboards. Prince he might be, but boys were boys, and Little Arthur had hidden all manner of things under a particular loose panel in his own room. (Actually, he still did.) Starting at the northern corner of the room, he slowly worked his way across the floor, ignoring the thought of how ridiculous he'd look if someone were to open the door.

Near the foot of the bed, he struck gold.

Grinning triumphantly, Arthur quickly levered the loose board up and reached inside. His fingers instantly recognised the texture of leather, and he soon found himself staring at a hefty, well fingered book. Frowning, he flipped through a few pages.

His eyes widened.

It was a book of magic.

_Magic._

Arthur stared incredulously at it.

Merlin. Bumbling, clumsy, too-talkative Merlin. Had a book on magic.

Perhaps it wasn't Merlin's book. Perhaps it belonged to a previous occupant.

It _fit_ , though. It fit with Gaius' panicked, pointed looks and Merlin's shifty behaviour…

But just because Merlin had a book of magic, it didn't mean he was a practitioner himself… right?

Shaking his head grimly at yet another unanswered question, Arthur tucked the book into the folds of his coat and made for the door. He had to get to the afternoon council session, but for now… for now, he'd keep the book with him. He had some thinking to do.

. . .

. . .

Merlin cursed with frustration as he watched that day's body cart trundle around the lower city. The cart was just a speck from his bedroom window, but he knew what it was. Gods knew he'd seen it enough times. He slammed his fist into the window ledge, barely feeling the sting, and cursed again.

For the past two nights he'd returned to the well, trying all the spells he could think of in an attempt to purify the city's water supply. The nausea he felt when he worked his magic around the contamination seemed to have settled in his bones, and he'd long since learnt to skimp on dinner. Coupled with his work for Gaius and his duties for Arthur, his midnight exertions were beginning to take their toll.

And Arthur kept looking at him strangely.

He sometimes caught the prince staring at him from the corner of his eye. He'd turn, only to have Arthur shift his gaze, his expression carefully blank. Merlin was at a loss to explain what had changed.

Stop thinking about Arthur, Merlin reprimanded himself sternly. Think about more important things – like how to fight this epidemic.

The warlock scrubbed a tired hand over his face. He stumbled back to the rickety chair in the corner of the room, head buzzing with tiredness, and sat down gratefully. He tried to focus on the words on the book in front of him – different to his usual text which had, worryingly, disappeared from its hiding place under the floorboards - but found it hard to concentrate through his growing aggravation.

Depressingly, his efforts didn't seem to be making much difference. People were still getting sick, although at a slightly slower rate than before. Merlin thought, bitterly, that that was probably due more to the use of the outer cistern than any success of his own. He'd begun stopping at plague houses on his way home; had had some success at healing the illness directly…

But people were still dying.

People were still dying and his magic was doing nothing. _Nothing._

Gods, he was fed up of it. He knew his tiredness was clouding his thoughts, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was fed up of trying and trying and _trying_ and never succeeding. Sure, he'd saved a handful of people - but that was barely a drop in the ocean of what he should, surely, have been able to do. And to add salt to the wound, Gwen, his best friend, was in jail because of what he'd done. Her execution loomed with each passing day…

…And that was all on _him_.

Merlin clenched his fists; ground his teeth with determination. There had to be something he could do! If he couldn't save the people of Camelot… then surely he could save his best friend.

. . .

. . .

Arthur stared worriedly at the figures on the page before him. The number of citizens contracting whatever it was that was moving through the water supply seemed to have reached equilibrium, thanks to the use of the outer cistern… but as the figures in front of him showed, the outer cistern alone could not support the entire population of the lower city much longer. The water was running out.

The prince passed a hand over his face tiredly. Save for a few isolated reports of miraculous healings in the lower town, good news was sparse on the ground. It seemed that all he did these days was worry. About the epidemic. About the water supply. The quarantine. The morale of his people… He'd lost count of the sleepless hours he'd spent thinking about Gwen – it was now her third day in prison, although thanks to the apparent stall in the spread of the illness Morgana had successfully petitioned his father to postpone the execution sentence. That was something, at least.

And then there was Merlin.

Arthur had managed to avoid thinking about Merlin and the Book (because it was always 'Book' in his mind, and not 'book'), taken as he was with his other duties. Then he'd put off saying anything because, although he'd never say it out loud, Merlin looked… well. He came to Arthur's chambers every morning looking dishevelled and drawn. His usually ceaseless babble of chatter had given way to dull, monotone replies, and Arthur was surprised to realise that he didn't care for the substitution.

In short, Merlin looked like crap.

He looked, Arthur thought with a sudden chill, sick. _Contaminated water_ sick.

But as the numbers in front of his eyes merged into meaningless squiggles the prince realised he could not put off talking to Merlin any longer. The epidemic was reaching a critical point, and perhaps… if the Book could help…

The doors to the council chamber opened with a sudden bang, jerking Arthur out of his musings. He half rose before he knew what he was doing, hand on his sword, but seeing the figure in the doorway his eyes widened…

Speak of the devil.

"Mer-" he began.

"It was me!" Merlin announced. "I used magic to cure Gwen's father!"

The council chamber descended into abrupt silence, so quiet that Arthur could hear the suddenly fast thudding of his heart in his ears.

"Gwen is not the sorcerer – I am!"

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face.

What-

The chamber erupted into confused shouting as suddenly as the silence had fallen.

"Merlin! Are you mad?"

"I cannot let her die for me!"

"Sire, he doesn't know what he's talking about!"

"I do!"

"Then arrest him."

The three words jolted Arthur from his stunned silence. This was going too far, too fast. He quickly came to a decision. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe that his hapless manservant was a sorcerer – he didn't have enough guile for that; Merlin was a hopeless liar! – but perhaps he knew who the Book belonged to.

"Father, please!" Arthur said with just the right amount of chagrin and disbelief, "I can't allow this! This is madness! There's no way Merlin is a sorcerer."

"He admitted it," Uther frowned.

"He saved my life, remember."

Merlin shot him a surprised glance.

"Why should he fabricate such a story?"

Arthur thought quickly. "As Gaius said, he's got a... grave mental disease."

The shock on Merlin's face turned to confusion. Perfect.

"He's in love."

"What?"

"With Gwen," Arthur continued. Confusion swiftly turned to irritation.

"I'm not in love with her!"

Grinning, sensing success, Arthur slung an arm around his manservant's shoulders, gripping a little too tight to be entirely friendly. He felt Merlin tense beside him and squeezed tighter, the warning clear.

_For god's sake, Merlin – keep your mouth shut!_

"Merlin is a wonder, but the wonder is that he's such an _idiot!_ " Arthur paused for effect. God bless his rhetoric tutor. "There's no way he's a sorcerer."

There was a moment of expectant silence. Then, "Don't waste my time again," Uther said. "Let him go."

"We need to talk," Arthur hissed in Merlin's ear as he ushered him to the door. "Wait for me in my chambers."

. . .

. . .

Gods, Merlin thought numbly, Arthur was right - he was so stupid! He couldn't believe he'd just marched into the council chambers and confessed to sorcery – in front of the king, no less! And now Arthur _knew._

Arthur must have found the book.

He knew Merlin was a sorcerer.

Cold fear chased all trace of tiredness away. Horrified, Merlin bolted for his rooms. He hastily stuffed his pack full of possessions; anything that came to hand. There was no question of staying, now – he had to leave the castle before Arthur and Gaius left the council meeting. He'd go to one of the plague houses; heal as many as he could before the guards came to get him. Who knew, perhaps if he saved enough people Uther would believe the epidemic was ending, and release Gwen. The fact that Arthur would never have defended his manservant in the first place if he was going to arrest him went unnoticed in Merlin's panicked mind.

He was out of the castle in minutes.

. . .

. . .

Arthur returned to his chambers only to find them decidedly Merlin-less.

"Dammit, Merlin," he swore. "What part of 'wait for me in my chambers' did you not understand?" Pausing only to snatch up the Book, he strode towards Gaius' quarters.

"Sire?"

Gaius looked up sharply from the paper he was reading as the door thudded open.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur said shortly.

"Well, he's not here, sire…"

"I can see that!" Arthur snapped. "Where is he?"

"I thought he was with-"

" _Don't_ lie to me, Gaius!"

Gaius recoiled, shocked.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I want to know what you're hiding, Gaius. I want to know why Merlin had _this_ -" he hefted the Book in his hand "-in his possession."

Gaius flinched, and Arthur felt cold.

"It's you, isn't it? The Book is yours. _You're_ the sorcerer!"

It wasn't the only explanation, and it was a bad one… because he knew Gaius was already doing everything in his power to resolve the epidemic, and if he was a sorcerer and _still_ wasn't having any success… Arthur shook his head. Suddenly, he found himself hoping that Merlin _was_ the sorcerer, because that would at least provide a little more hope.

Bloody hell. His world had turned mad.

"Look... Gaius…" he said finally, "I'm not here to arrest you or Merlin. I just… I just want to talk. That's all."

Sighing, Gaius offered Arthur the paper in his hands. The prince read through the scribbled note quickly, and swore under his breath.

.

_Gaius,_ (it read)

_Arthur has the book. I think he knows about me. I can't stay here any longer. I'm going to stay at one of the plague houses – the one near the cooper's lane – until I'm arrested. Come and see me, if you can. I'm sorry._

_Merlin._

.

"He went to a plague house?" Arthur exclaimed incredulously. "Is he mad?"

"You are referring to Merlin, aren't you?" Gaius said dryly.

Arthur grimaced. Point taken. "I'll go get him," he decided.

"Sire!" Gaius said, alarmed. "The lower town is under strict quarantine and you are the crown prince! It would be extremely irresponsible to expose yourself in such a way."

"Damn responsibility," Arthur growled.

. . .

. . .

Merlin never made it to the plague house.

He barrelled through an intersection and along a street he knew would lead him through a small marketplace, which fed into the lower town. But as the market square came into view his running footsteps slowed to a stop.

There were bodies in the square.

Six blanket-wrapped lumps were huddled against an empty stall. One of them coughed painfully and it was with intense relief that Merlin realised that these people were still alive. In fact, he would probably have sensed the magical illness two streets back had he not had his magic-sense clamped down so painfully tight. He drew closer. The figures became clearer…

Merlin's heart constricted in his chest. He swore softly.

There were six _children_.

Evidently they were homeless; they'd not heard the message about the water, or hadn't had the strength to make the trek to the outer cistern. Instead, they'd drunk from their usual water pumps… and had paid the price.

Merlin dropped to his knees beside the first child – a boy only a few years younger than he was – and carefully placed one hand on his fevered forehead and the other on his labouring chest. He had practice with this illness, now. He knew how it rooted deep in the body and corrupted the tissues. He'd also learnt how to gauge the progress of the disease… and none of these children had much time left.

"Hold on," he muttered, and opened up his magic.

Immediately, nausea roiled in his gut.

Yeah. These kids had the water sickness, alright – and had it bad.

He waited until the worst of it had passed and plunged his magic into the boy's body, willing it to find the root of the taint in his system, sinking through skin and flesh and muscle and bone until-

There.

" _ **Gestathole,**_ " he chanted. " _ **Gestathole thurhhaele!**_ "

Gritting his teeth with concentration, Merlin let the magic flow out of him until it surrounded the illness. Then he fed even more magic in, building it higher and higher until finally, the poison began to burn away. He felt the boy shudder once beneath him, his body jerking as if under an unnatural strain…

" ** _Gestathole_** …"

Come on, Merlin thought as the illness slowly began to shrink. Just a little longer…

" ** _Gestathole!_** "

There. Done.

Merlin sat back, gasping. He blinked spots from his eyes.

A young boy peered up at him from between the folds of a threadbare blanket.

"Who're you?" he said belligerently.

Merlin grinned, weary but triumphant. One down. Five to go.

. . .

. . .

By the time Merlin was done with the third child – a girl barely ten years old – he could barely see straight. He'd never healed so many people in one sitting, and the brute force approach to burning the illness away… it took a lot of juice.

His stomach got the better of him after the fourth child; he retched, turning away hastily in an effort to hide his reaction from his audience. He drank a little from his waterskin to rinse the taste of bile from his mouth before passing the rest of it to the recovering children. After resting for a couple of minutes, he pressed on.

The last child was a trial. The illness had rooted seemingly everywhere; it clung to his magic like mud, fighting him on every frontier. He briefly lost physical contact when the body shivered violently under his hands and started again, growling with frustration. He felt someone come up beside him and hold the child down but could not spare the concentration to thank them before his awareness narrowed again.

Merlin came out of the healing with a jolt. He listed sideways, only to have someone catch him securely around the shoulders.

"Easy, Merlin. Easy, lad."

Was that-

"Gaius?" he croaked. He blinked blearily and his mentor's face swam into focus. So did another.

"... _Arthur?_ "

The prince stared at him, eyes wide, shocked, and a tiny bit awed.

"God have mercy…" he breathed. "You really _are_ a sorcerer!"

. . .

. . .

Gaius watched the situation unfold with more than a little trepidation. He had led Arthur to the small market square in order to avoid passing one of the quarantine guard posts, only to stop dead when he'd caught sight of that familiar mop of dark hair, bent over a child who couldn't have reached double digits yet. For a second he'd contemplated ushering Arthur in a different direction… but even as he'd posed the question the prince had pushed past him, eyes as wide as they were now.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you," Merlin was saying earnestly. "Really, I am."

Arthur was silent. He looked around at the six thin, grubby faces; at the young lad that still lay, resting, under his hands. Then, "I'm sorry, too," he said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry that you lied to me." Arthur took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry you _had_ to lie to me."

Merlin stared. "You… I… You're not going to arrest me? I thought- you found my book, and…"

"If I was going to arrest you I'd have let my father do it in Council this morning, you idiot," Arthur pointed out bemusedly.

"But- I have magic, Arthur!"

"I can see that!"

"It's against the law!"

"I think I know what's against the law and what isn't, Merlin!" Arthur said sharply. He sighed. A part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to leave before he irrevocably and irreparably broke the law he'd sword to uphold. He pushed it down.

"Look… The fact is… You can fight this illness. You can help save the lives of my people… And that's more than I can do, God help me," he added bitterly.

"So… you're not going to execute me?" Merlin repeated.

"No, Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed exasperatedly. "Honestly, does anything I say penetrate that thick skull of yours?"

"Hey!"

There was a moment of awkward, anti-climactic silence. Then, "You know what the best part of this is?" Merlin said, grinning.

Arthur rolled his eyes expectantly. "What, Merlin?"

"You can't say I didn't tell you! I did – right in front of the king!"

Arthur couldn't help himself. He tipped back his head and laughed.

For the first time in many hours, Merlin allowed himself to relax. Relief coursed through his veins, leaving him feeling weightless. Everything had turned out. It was going to be alright. _Gods!_

. . .

. . .

Eventually, the laughter petered out. Arthur looked at Gaius, at Merlin, and the six, slightly bewildered, children.

"So… what happens now?"

"While Merlin is here, I would like to take a look around the water system that supplies the lower city." Gaius smoothly ignored the deeper implications of the question. "I believe we may find some clue as to the source of the enchantment."

Arthur eyed Merlin's waxy complexion dubiously. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Gaius, but are you sure? He doesn't look so good…"

"We won't be long," Gaius assured him, "I just need to collect a sample. Perhaps Merlin's magic will be able to point us in the right direction."

"I could go with you…"

"The king expects you for the evening meal, if I'm not mistaken."

Dammit. Gaius was right. "I still think he looks-"

" _He_ is right here," Merlin interrupted, glaring from his place on the floor. "And _he_ is fine, thanks."

"Sure you are," Arthur said sarcastically. "You just _prefer_ to sit on the freezing cold cobblestones."

Grumbling, Merlin gathered his feet beneath him and, conscious of the assessing gaze of his two companions, pushed himself to his feet, locking his knees against the expected surge of dizziness. He waited until the world rolled more or less into place and then raised his eyebrows at Arthur - _There. Happy?_

"Fine," Arthur said shortly. "Let me know if you find anything, Gaius. And _you_ -" he waved a finger at Merlin, "-meet me in my chambers when you get back - and no running away this time! We have a lot to discuss."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I thought I was going to be arrested!" he groused. "Of course I bloody ran!"

Arthur snorted something about excuses, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Merlin called. He gestured to the children, who eyed the prince and his warlock companion with a mixture of fear, curiosity and awe. "What about… err…"

Arthur made a face. He couldn't in good conscience leave the children on the street, but at the idea of them living in the castle made him uneasy. They'd seen Merlin perform magic, after all, and children were talkative.

"I'll take them to Tom's," he decided. "They can stay there until we can get something more permanent arranged. Does that suit you?" he asked the oldest child, arching an eyebrow.

The boy, who was perhaps as tall as Arthur's hip, shot a quick glance at his companions. "Y-yes. Sire," he added hastily.

"See, Merlin? Even the boy knows how to address me properly."

"Sod off," Merlin muttered. Eyeing the darkened skies, he waved over a nearby torch and lit it with a thought.

"Merlin!" Gaius and Arthur hissed simultaneously.

"What now?"

"We are in the middle of a _market square_! Anyone could have seen that!"

"Oh," Merlin said sheepishly. "Right. Sorry."

"Lord Almighty, Merlin! I wonder at how you managed to last this long!"

"Alright, alright! You've made your point!"

Arthur sighed dramatically. "Here. Give me that." He snatched the torch up and began ushering the children from the square. "And remember – my chambers! Tonight! Or I'll have you in the stocks for a week, sorcerer or no!"

. . .

. . .

Merlin forced his aching legs to climb the few stairs to his room, feet dragging against the floor, and entered with a worn sigh. So much had changed since the last time he'd been here just – hell, just a few hours ago!

Arthur had come looking for him.

Arthur knew he had magic.

Arthur was not going to have him executed.

There was a creature in the water system.

Merlin let his pack drop to the floor and rolled his shoulders, wincing. Gods, but he was as sore as when he'd first learnt to ride…

What was he doing again?

Oh, right.

Arthur. Chambers. Talking.

Blinking stupidly, Merlin stumbled over to the bed and, catching sight of a (mostly) clean change of clothes under the bed, quickly dropped to his hands and knees. A surge of darkness flickered across his vision. Merlin shook his head.

Huh. Maybe he was tireder than he'd thought.

Just another hour or two, he promised himself. Then he'd blow the candles; grab a good, uninterrupted night's rest before trying to figure out what that creature was – and how to get rid of it – in the morning.

Finally, Merlin's questing hands found the fresh tunic and he sat back on his heels, coughing a little as his breath caught in his throat. Damn dust. Another surge of vertigo threatened to topple him; he scooted quickly backwards, propping his back against the side of the bed as his strength failed him completely. He'd just… rest here for a moment. Just… rest his eyes… only for… a second…

. . .

. . .

Gaius sighed as he began his bedtime rituals. It had been a long night. The search of the lower town's water system had been… unexpectedly harrowing. He would get what rest he could from the remainder of the night and begin researching the creature he'd glimpsed in the morning.

Merlin had disappeared into his room to freshen up before heading to Arthur's chambers. Gaius hoped the prince would not keep him up too late – the lad looked quite done in. Speaking of which…

Gaius paused.

Merlin ought to have been out of his room by now.

Forcing himself not to panic, the elderly physician mounted the stairs as fast as his creaky limbs would allow. After a polite, unanswered knock, he opened the door.

. . .

. . .

Arthur charged down to Gaius' quarters in record time, his earlier drowsiness forgotten.

"Gaius?" he called as he entered.

"In here, sire."

The prince barrelled through the doorway to Merlin's room; stopped short a few paces from the bed. He swore softly. There was no denying it.

Merlin had the water sickness.

Arthur swallowed.

"How long does he have?"

"It's difficult to say…" Gaius shifted uneasily. "A day. Perhaps less."

"How did this even happen?" Arthur mumbled, scrubbing his face tiredly. "Merlin knew about the water. He wouldn't have drunk it. He's an idiot – but he's not that stupid."

"Merlin has been visiting the lower town wells for the past two nights, sire." Gaius shrugged helplessly. "I can only guess he exposed himself to the illness during his attempts to lift the curse on the water supply."

Realisation rolled over him. That would explain why Merlin had looked so drawn out for the last few days.

"Can you… can you heal him?"

Gaius shook his head, and Arthur's heart sank.

"If we can lift the curse, it may restore his health to him. Our exploration of the lower town's water system has given me a few ideas, but it will take time to narrow down exactly what we are dealing with."

Arthur cast another glance in Merlin's direction. His manservant was pallid; veins standing out stark against his almost translucent skin.

"Time… he doesn't have time." Arthur shook his head. Just minutes earlier he'd been pacing his room, solely occupied with worrying about whether he was making the right decision to harbour a sorcerer in his household. Now, it seemed the choice might be taken out of his hands. "There's nothing you can do?"

"The only remedy I know of is Merlin's magic. He cannot heal himself, sire…"

"Wait!"

The prince straightened suddenly.

Then, to Gaius' astonishment he said, "Yes, Gaius! He can!"

. . .

. . .

Merlin couldn't think. He was roaring hot on the outside; hell-frozen-over cold on the inside. He groaned as his insides clenched, forcing a harsh cough from his chapped lips.

_Water… sick… water-sick…_

The thoughts scattered as quickly as they had coalesced as a surge of _wrongness_ through him. He could feel a foreign magic inside him, sticking to his body like tar… Could feel it eating away at his energy, breaking him down like it had who knows how many other people in the past week.

He could see it in his mind's eye – he would die as the people he'd failed to save had died. His skin would go pale and bloodless; his lips would turn blue; his eyes become covered by a milky film. The fever would worsen – he could already feel it doing so- and-

Panicking, Merlin lashed out with his magic.

Distantly, he heard someone let out a choked cry; realised it was him. Fighting the sickness with magic felt like hitting a stone wall at full tilt.

But the wall gave a little.

Merlin flung his magic out again; weathered the backlash; felt the fog on his mind lift as the sickness was pushed back a little further. He struggled to open up his magic-sense, to _see_ himself as he saw the people he had saved in the plague houses. It was awkward – like trying to look at your nose without a looking glass – but there-

He could see the blackness beating against a vast, undefined space filled with what he took to be his life force and his magic combined.

 _Stop!_ He grunted, rallying his magic again. _Those other people could not fight for themselves – but I can! Get off me!_

But the sickness was strong, and rooted deep by now. Again and again he flung his magic at it, sometimes giving ground, sometimes taking it. He could only hope to hold on long enough for Gaius to find a cure… before his strength ran out.

. . .

. . .

Morgana straightened her gown nervously as she approached the guard post. She wondered, yet again, just how crazy she must be to have agreed to this plan - the plan to steal a magical healing poultice from under Uther's nose, that is.

Twenty minutes ago Arthur had roused her from sleep, blurting out that Merlin had the water sickness and oh, by the by - did she happen to know what had become of the healing poultice they'd found in Gwen's house?

Luckily, Morgana had managed to convince Uther to hold off destroying the poultice, claiming that she wanted it for evidence. At the time, she'd had the vague notion of examining the contents of the pouch and figuring out where they'd come from. The poultice was now being held under guard in a small storeroom close to the dungeons… which was why the king's ward found herself with a jug of warmed wine in her hands, heading for the guard post.

Warmed, _drugged_ wine, that is.

She took one more fortifying breath before rounding the corner, pasting an innocent smile on her face.

"Good evening, sirs!" she called out.

The two guards straightened; one of them hastily scooped a pair of dice into his beltpouch.

"Lady Morgana!" his companion stammered. "What- err- what brings you down here at this time of the night, my lady?"

"I couldn't sleep," Morgana replied piteously, with an embarrassed smile. "I was… lying in bed… worrying about my maidservant. I thought she might be cold and came down to see to her wellbeing." She placed the jug of wine on the rickety wooden table. "You must be cold. Here – please, help yourself."

"My lady, you are most generous!" the guard exclaimed. He quickly poured three mugs, two of which disappeared in short order. Morgana merely brought hers to her lips, watching. After a moment she excused herself, heading down the hallway in the direction of her chambers, but she stopped at the top of the stairwell. Soon enough, the sound of quiet snoring drifted up from below.

Morgana hurried back down, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when she found the two unfortunate guards nodding over their cups. She deftly lifted the key to the storeroom from the wall.

Five minutes later she replaced the key ring, the all important poultice tucked safely between the folds of her robes.

"Sweet dreams, boys," she murmured as she headed for the physician's quarters.

. . .

. . .

He was tired. Gods, but he was so _tired_. Merlin could feel his magic petering out, his senses clamping down tight around him in self-preservation. The sickness was growing stronger, barely hindered by the little energy he could spare to fling at it.

He didn't think he had much time left.

He wanted to cry out; to call for help, but his lips refused to move. He was freezing cold and knew, distantly, that it meant his circulation was slowing, blood drawing away from his now blue-tinged skin. It was all he could do to keep the air moving in and out of his lungs.

The sickness surged again, and Merlin felt the magic slip traitorously from his grasp.

_Gaius? Arthur? Help-!_

He fell into fever dreams once more.

. . .

. . .

"Do you have it?" Arthur demanded urgently as soon Morgana entered the room. He pushed away the heavy text he'd been peering at with an inward sigh of relief. Gaius had had him combing book after mind-numbingly boring book in an attempt to narrow down what exactly the creature he and Merlin had encountered in the water tunnels was. As much as he'd, surprisingly, wanted to, there'd been no time for him to sit with Merlin upstairs. He'd been all but glued to his place at the table, and Morgana's entrance was a welcome relief from the thus far frustratingly fruitless research.

The king's ward offered up the poultice, smirking with satisfaction.

"Did you have any problems?" Arthur asked as Gaius snatched up the healing bag. "The wine worked?"

"Like a charm," Morgana said, lips quirking again.

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Remind me not to get on Gaius' bad side," he murmured, impressed.

"Too late for that," Morgana snickered. "He's known you since you were a child, remember."

"Ha, ha."

The three of them trooped into the upper room and all trace of mirth disappeared from their faces. Arthur was no physician, but even he could tell that Merlin was in a bad way. He knew how aggressive the water sickness was, but even so he was shocked at how far his manservant's condition had deteriorated in such a short time. The prince recognised the later stages of the illness by now; realised what the blue-tinged skin, rattling breath and opaque eyes signified.

Arthur watched anxiously as Gaius slipped the now glowing poultice under his friend's pillow. It was strange, he thought, unconsciously smoothing the sheets with one hand; strange how integral Merlin had become in his life. He was like the stirrups on a saddle or the leather grip on a sword: you didn't pay attention to them when they were there – but you sure as hell noticed when they weren't. To his surprise, Arthur realised that life without Merlin was quite unimaginable.

Not that he had to. Imagine, that is.

Because obviously Merlin was going to be fine.

"You're going to be fine, right, Merlin?" Arthur muttered, momentarily forgetting that he was not alone. "You're going to wake up and be your usual disrespectful, clumsy, idiot self again, aren't you?" He swallowed. "Consider it an order. Disobey and I'll double our sparring sessions, take you hunting every time it rains, and… make you clean all the knights' armour for a year! You hear me, Merlin?"

But of course there was no answer, save for a slight furrowing between Merlin's brows.

Arthur looked up abruptly, seeking reassurance from Gaius's care-worn face across the bed.

"Will it work?"

For the longest time, Gaius remained silent. He watched Merlin's face intently and after a long, agonising moment something in his posture eased.

"The illness is advanced…. But I believe he will recover." Gaius turned, and Arthur saw tears in his eyes. "You have my deepest thanks. Both of you."

Arthur nodded soberly. One friend saved; one to go.

Gwen was to be executed in the morning.

. . .

. . .

Two hours later, Arthur's head was drooping over yet another bestiary. He caught himself with a start, mentally berating himself for dropping off. Put him in charge of a patrol and he could go for days on minimal sleep, but put him in front of a book with less than a couple of hours and, well… Arthur shoved himself upright in the hard-backed chair (chosen because it'd looked too uncomfortable to sleep in – so much for that idea!) and pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyelids.

 _Come on, Pendragon,_ he urged himself. _Get a grip._

He could not afford to rest while his people were still falling ill. Not when they… were so… close…

"I have it!" Gaius exclaimed suddenly, jolting Arthur from his half doze once more. The older man tapped the text in front of him and then slid the book over to Arthur and Morgana. "Here. The creature we saw was an Afanc!"

"An… a what?"

"A beast born of clay, conjured up only by the most powerful sorcerers. Now we have to find a way to defeat it…. There must be a book somewhere…"

Arthur eyed the lightening sky.

"Dammit, Gaius!" he growled. "We don't have the time! I have to go now, or Gwen will be dead by midday."

"But, sire-!"

"Stall my father as long as you can!" Arthur ordered, and ran out the door.

. . .

. . .

Awareness returned like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Bits and pieces drifted through - someone talking nearby, a low, familiar rumble in his ears; the faint smell of leather polish; the brush of fingers at his side or against his forehead, resettling the bed sheets or stroking sweat-matted hair from his face.

Above all, Merlin could sense _magic_. He had not the faintest idea where it had come from. Nor did he care. It pooled against his own dwindling energy, and it took surprisingly little effort to claim it as his. Slowly, his magical sense began to unfold, twitching and flexing like a long-cramped muscle. Fresh strength rushed through his veins, accompanied by a sense of urgency. _Hurry_.

. . .

. . .

Arthur didn't bother donning his armour; it would have taken too long without Merlin's help. He stopped only to collect his sword from his rooms before heading for the castle gates. As he neared the portal he saw a shadow lurking in the archway. Someone was waiting for him. Someone he recognised.

"Morgana," he said wearily. "What are you doing?"

"You can't go alone"

"The hell I can't!"

"I'm coming with you."

"No - you're not!"

"Scared I'll show you up?"

God, but he was getting sick of that smirk.

"Father will have us both in chains if he knew I'd endangered you."

Morgana recognised the concern behind the statement. Her gaze softened. "Well… good thing he doesn't know about it then," she said lightly.

Arthur tried one last time.

"I'm telling you, Morgana, turn back. You could get hurt."

"So could you…if you don't get out of my way."

Arthur could not help but grin as Morgana swept past him.

. . .

. . .

"No! Don't-… What-… No-… _Hurry!_ "

Gaius started awake at the nonsensical babble from the pile of blankets on the bed.

"Merlin, my boy?"

He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder; shook gently.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open. He squinted up at Gaius, trying to bring his mentor's face into focus. His whole body ached. His head _throbbed_.

"Gaius?" he groaned. "How much did I drink?"

"It wasn't alcohol you drunk, Merlin – it was water," Gaius said, helping him into a sitting position. "How do you feel, my lad?"

"Like I've gone ten rounds with Arthur on tournament day… Oh, gods – Arthur!" Merlin flailed, struggling to free himself from the sheets. "I was supposed to meet him! In his chamber! How long was I-"

"Merlin! Merlin, calm down!" Gaius urged, pushing him gently back into the pillows. "You've been unconscious for most of the night."

"But-"

"Prince Arthur knows you were ill. He has gone to the tunnels to deal with the beast responsible for the water illness – an Afanc. It is a creature of powerful magic."

"A creature of magic?" Merlin yelped. "And he went _alone?_ "

"I daresay Lady Morgana went with him."

"Is that meant to be reassuring?" Merlin batted Gaius' hand away and managed to plant his feet on the floorboards. He waited for the room to stop spinning before gritting his teeth and hauling himself upright. Only a quick grab for the bedside table kept him from pitching over again.

"Merlin, what are you-"

"If this… Afanc is a creature of magic, then Arthur's going to need my help to kill it," Merlin pointed out. To his relief, the dizziness faded quickly, replaced by a familiar churning in his stomach. That, he could deal with. Barely.

"And just how are you going to do that, Merlin?" Gaius argued. "Two hours ago you were on death's door! You are not yet recovered!"

Merlin blinked, momentarily shocked into stillness. Death's door? He'd been that bad? But he was fine, now… relatively speaking.

"You found a cure?"

Gaius shook his head. "Lady Morgana and Prince Arthur retrieved your magic poultice – it was that, that healed you."

Merlin swallowed. "All the more reason to go to them," he said resolutely.

"I fear you are right," Gaius said, relenting with a worried sigh. He pushed the magic poultice into Merlin's hands. "Take this with you. It will help you regain your strength…But Merlin, we still do not know how to kill the Afanc."

"Maybe not…" Merlin said, tying the poultice to his belt, "But I know someone who does!"

. . .

. . .

Morgana entered the water tunnels cautiously, her heart thudding loud in her chest. She readjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword, nervous, and tried to peer past Arthur's bulk and into the tunnels beyond.

"Here-" Arthur said, turning. He passed her a torch, keeping one for himself, and struck a spark from his flint, his movements reassuringly steady. The brands caught with a whoosh, and Morgana allowed herself to be comforted by the resulting light and glow of warmth. They continued down the rock corridor, the silence broken only by the soft 'plink' of dripping water somewhere close.

"How are we going to find it – the Afanc?" Morgana said to break the unnerving quiet.

"I just hope we do find it… before it finds us," Arthur replied in a low murmur. No trace of nerves shook his voice. This, Morgana realised, must be what Arthur was like on patrol. It was this steadiness, not his lineage, that had earned him the respect and leadership of Camelot's knights. Being the hero, it seemed, was more work than it looked. A surge of admiration and affection swept over her, easing her anxiety a little. Arthur knew what he was doing. He'd-

Suddenly Arthur spun, eyes darting.

"Stop."

Morgana froze.

"What?"

Morgana's eyes swept from corner to corner, though what exactly she was searching for she wasn't quite sure.

"Arthur?"

"…Nothing. It's… just a shadow."

All of a sudden Morgana found herself able to breathe again.

They kept moving deeper into the tunnels.

. . .

. . .

"I need to know how to defeat an Afanc!" Merlin yelled up at the Great Dragon.

"Yes," the dragon drawled, "I suppose you do."

Merlin growled with exasperation. "Will you help me?"

"Trust the elements that are at your command."

"Elements?" Merlin repeated. "But what is it I have to _do?_ "

"You cannot do this alone," the dragon continued, ignoring the question completely. "You are but one side of a coin. Arthur is the other."

"I don't understand! Just tell me what it is I have to do!" Merlin cried, frustrated beyond measure. This was getting him nowhere!

Then the Great Dragon began flying away.

"No, please! Help me!"

"I have."

"Oh, yeah, right," Merlin muttered sarcastically, staggering in the dragon's backdraught and saving himself from a fatal plummet only by sitting down abruptly. The dragon's laughter echoed in his ears. "Thanks for nothing!" _You great flying lizard!_

Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. Gwen was going to be burnt at the stake if he didn't do something fast, and Arthur and Morgana were still down in the water tunnels.

None of them had any idea what they were doing.

Gods, Merlin thought despairingly, it was like the blind leading the blind.

He set off for the Water Gate at a run, the poultice bouncing at his hip.

. . .

. . .

Arthur resettled his grip on the torch, his mouth dry with anticipation. He fought to keep his sword steady, trying to keep his nervousness from showing. Morgana looked cool and collected beside him and damn if he was going to let her show him up. Steadying himself with a deep breath, the prince continued down the rock passageway, eyes scouting each shadow for a hint of movement.

The Afanc struck fast.

One minute Arthur was standing in the middle of a roomy junction. The next, he was flying, pain tearing through his left shoulder. He hit the opposite wall hard, rolled, and staggered to his feet….

…Only to be greeted by empty space.

The Afanc was gone.

"Arthur? What is it?" Morgana rushed up to her companion. There was blood on his jacket. "You're hurt!"

Arthur looked down at himself. Three parallel gouges ran from his shoulder and partway across his chest. Blood seeped sluggishly into the material of his shirt and jacket and suddenly Arthur found himself fiercely regretting his hasty decision not to wear armour – not even a chainmail shirt or his quilted jacket. Probing gingerly, he was relieved to find that the claw marks were long, but not particularly deep. They hurt like the blazes, though.

"I'm alright," Arthur panted, straightening.

Morgana cast him a dubious glance but, trusting his judgement, quickly returned her gaze to their surroundings.

"Did you see it?"

"Yeah. Yes," Arthur grunted as he shook out his sword arm.

"What did it look like?"

"It's quick."

They had to keep moving. This intersection was too exposed; had too many openings. They needed a narrower front… but which passageway was the correct one?

The prince shrugged. They all looked the same – and he'd always been a right-hand-tunnel kinda man, himself…

. . .

. . .

"Arthur? Morgana?" Merlin shouted as he entered the water tunnel entrance. It occurred to him that perhaps announcing his presence in this manner was not the smartest idea, but it was too late now. He jogged down the corridor, grimacing as the uneasy roiling in his gut grew stronger. Well… at least he now had a good indication of the direction he was supposed to be heading in. ( _Silver lining, Merlin - silver lining!_ ) And the poultice seemed to be doing its thing – he felt his strength returning with every step.

Looking around, Merlin saw that both of the torches on the walls were gone. Luckily for him…

" _ **Baerne,**_ " he muttered.

A globe of light appeared a few paces in front of him, hovering gently. Merlin grinned.

A sudden shout echoed down the corridor, followed by the sound of metal striking stone.

_Arthur! ___

__Throwing caution to the wind, Merlin sprinted down the tunnel._ _

____

. . .

. . .

The passageway Arthur had chosen had widened a little in prelude to the chamber he could see up ahead. He motioned Morgana to stay close behind – she had the light, after all – and entered it cautiously, sword ready.

There was a sudden flicker at the corner of his eye.

He whirled; brought his sword down in a glittering arc as he did so, only to have the weapon skitter across the Afanc's toughened skin, the sound setting his teeth on edge. The prince darted backwards, eager to put some space between them… but dammit, the Afanc was _fast_.

Arthur's sword flew from his grasp, skidding across the shadowed floor to god knew where. He hit the wall for the second time that hour, crying out involuntarily as fresh heat spiked through his back and shoulder. He shook his head dazedly as he lurched to his feet again, weaponless.

His sword. Morgana. The Afanc. Where-

Morgana screamed.

. . .

. . .

Merlin reached a junction and paused, gasping for breath. All of the passageways seemed to head in the right direction…

A high-pitched scream tore through the air-

Morgana.

There was no time. He went left.

. . .

. . .

"Morgana!" Arthur called, fear twisting in his chest.

Morgana shouted; thrust her sword at the ugly, twisted creature that was now revealed in the light of her torch. The Afanc lumbered backward, Morgana's sword striking sparks from its hide – as useless as his own.

"Morgana, give me the torch!" Arthur shouted, desperate for a weapon – any weapon!

Morgana tossed the flaming brand high over the Afanc's head. Arthur caught it deftly, grateful that it was his left arm, and not his dominant right, that was injured. He immediately advanced on the creature, waving the light from side to side to get its attention.

Probably not his brightest idea.

The Afanc rushed forward at speed. Arthur lurched sideways; felt his foot turn on a loose stone and stumbled, cursing.

The Afanc sprung.

Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed across the chamber.

_"Arthur! Use the torch!"_

. . .

. . .

Merlin felt adrenaline surge through him as the sound of fighting drew nearer. The left-hand passage had curved around almost a full circle, taking him to the far side of a roomy chamber. He entered it at a run, heart lurching as he caught his first good look at the Afanc.

It was ugly.

It was _fast_.

Even as he watched, it advanced on Arthur, claws outstretched.

_Trust the elements at your command._

_The Afanc is a creature of clay and magic._

_Elements._

_Clay._

_Magic._

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted. "Use the torch!"

The prince swung the torch high.

_**"Lyfte ic þe in balwen ac forhienan.!"** _

There was a dull roar. Flame swept across the cavern. The Afanc shrieked in pain as it burned, hot and fast. Merlin felt its dying moments; let the spell go the minute he felt the taint vanish from his magic-sense. Exhausted, he sagged against the wall, blinking spots from his vision. Then-

Gods. There'd been blood on Arthur's tunic.

He scrambled to his feet.

"Arthur? Are you alright?"

He staggered to Arthur's side, only to find that Morgana had beaten him to the punch.

"Is he alright?" he said worriedly. "He looks a little pale…"

"The wounds aren't deep," Morgana said, to his intense relief. "He should be alright if we get him to Gaius."

" _He_ is right here, and _he_ is fine!" Arthur muttered, wondering at what point he'd sat down.

Merlin grinned. "Annoying, isn't it?" he teased.

"Merlin." Arthur blinked as if seeing him for the first time. "Good to see you on your feet again."

"I hear I have you and Morgana to thank for that."

"Well…Now we're even."

Morgana rolled her eyes impatiently. "This is all very touching, but in case you didn't notice, dawn is breaking and I would really like to get back to the castle _before my maidservant is burnt at the stake for sorcery!_ "

"Gwen!" Arthur exclaimed, struggling to sit up. "There can't be much time left… You'd better go on ahead, Morgana. If you wait for us you'll be here forever." Morgana would see to it that Gwen was released, Arthur reassured himself. She was better with Uther than he was, in any case.

"You'll be alright?" Morgana said, clearly torn.

"I've got Merlin," Arthur shrugged, smiling. "He's a little bit magic. We'll be fine. You remember the way out?"

The king's ward nodded shortly. She retrieved the torch and was soon out of sight.

"Come on, up you get," Merlin murmured. He helped Arthur to his feet, wincing sympathetically as the movement pulled at the prince's wounds. They took a moment to steady themselves.

"Are you going to fall down as soon as we take a step?" Merlin said, concern creasing his face.

"Are you going to fall asleep as soon as we hit the corridor?" Arthur retorted, eyeing his companion's still pale complexion.

"Guess we're going to have to lean on each other, then."

"Huh. I guess so."

. . .

. . .

**Epilogue**

. . .

Merlin approached the door to Arthur's chambers with trepidation. He patted his freshly washed hair down in an attempt to neaten it; scrubbed his sweaty palms on his newly cleaned clothes. Then he knocked.

"Enter."

With a last fortifying breath, Merlin cracked the door open and slipped inside, immediately grateful for the warmth of Arthur's rooms compared to the night time chill of the castle's corridors.

Arthur turned from the window and took a moment to study his manservant, nodding with approval at what he saw. Almost a full day of sleep had done Merlin wonders. The hot bath and fresh change of clothes probably hadn't hurt either.

Finally, he had a chance to talk with Merlin alone… and yet, somehow… this wasn't how he'd imagined it would be.

"So. You made it."

"Third time lucky?" Merlin offered. "Better late than never?"

Arthur snorted. "True enough," he agreed, gesturing for Merlin to take a seat. He did, warily.

"You're not going to put me in the stocks, are you?"

"You're off the hook. This time," Arthur smirked.

Awkward silence.

"Did Morgana manage to find those children a place to stay?" Merlin asked.

"Yes… They're staying with the chief ostler and his wife. They wanted children… and now they have six," Arthur snickered. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of messy hay and overfed horses in the future."

Awkward silence.

"Gwen's alright? She's settled back in with her father?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, she's… fine. Really well."

"And Gaius has confirmed the water illness is gone?"

"Yes. It went with the Afanc."

Awkward silence.

"So… You have magic."

"Yeah. Yes. I do."

Arthur sat back, a little surprised to find how little that statement bothered him.

"Well. It's just as well, I suppose."

"…What?"

"Look, Merlin," he said earnestly. "I mean what I said earlier. Looking after Camelot's citizens is my duty. My highest responsibility. You were able to help my people in a way that I… in a way that was beyond my ability." He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Oh. Uh. You're welcome," Merlin stammered, looking a little stunned.

"I want you to know that you don't need to worry about me, or Morgana, or any of those children turning you in to my father. We owe you our lives. Your secret is safe with us."

The prince watched, satisfied, as the tension slowly seeped from Merlin's shoulders. Yes, he told himself. He was making the right decision.

"Besides…" Arthur continued, "I have the strangest feeling that I'm going to need someone with magic by my side in the future." Merlin looked up sharply.

"Does that mean… does that mean I can keep using my magic?"

"In private," Arthur corrected, remembering the market-place-torch incident. "And you can start with my sword. It's somewhere in the water tunnels, and I'm rather attached to it."

Merlin scowled. "I'm a warlock, not a carnival trickster!"

"You mean you don't know how to do it!" Arthur grinned.

"Magic's harder than it looks, alright?"

"Well you'd better tell me how it works, then!"

"Prat."

"Idiot."

Merlin settled himself more comfortably on the chair, and began to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted on fanfiction.net)  
> Written for an 'Arthur finds out' challenge. I'm a sucker for some Merlin whump ;)


End file.
